Two

The building housed an eerie silence once the very last worker of the day gathered their belongings from their locker and bid the bots a good night, a very common habit of the older employees of the establishment. The younger part timers barley acknowledged the aging mascots, far too mature for such nonsense, but the older generation held a certain respect for the animatronics that brought their younger family members such joy. In due time, the younger generation would understand. They always did.

The stale heat of the late summer night swarmed the rooms of the building, sticky residue lining the multicolored walls of the grounds. The tender chirps of the midnight crickets echoed their muffled songs, soothing to the weary ears of the newest life form on the premises, his firm heels clicking through the halls for his hourly run. The flashlight swung from left to right as he paced through the maze, glittering the metallic reflections of the chairs, seats, and doorknobs for a sliver of a heartbeat before they disappeared altogether from his line of vision. With a light sigh, he wiped his brow with the edge of his sleeve, eager to get back to the mini office where at the very least, a fan could cure the weaving feeling of heat exhaustion.

With a slow side step around the corner, his arm lowered with a yawn, nearly choking on the air slipping down his lungs.

The bright violet eyes pierced through him in the abyss, the pupils shifting from his feet to his hat, but did nothing more. A quick chill slithered along his spine as he took a shuffled step back, clutching his chest uncomfortably so. He hadn't expected any of them to be roaming in the same area as his perimeter check. They often clung to the rooms, edged along the shadows, or crept on their own stage, eager for the next show to begin. Perhaps his walking had triggered a motion sensor?

He couldn't be too sure. These creatures worked on their own time, a little smarter than he would rather have them. Clutching along his neck, the guard stole a quick glance behind himself to make sure no other surprises would be had, and swerved back the way he came.

Surely, any burglar who had the nerve to break into such an establishment would be rather vocal when bumping into one of these overgrown stuffed animals. It was a wonder why the owners even required a night shift to begin with. It wasn't as if the establishment was exactly rolling in the Benjamins, and he couldn't imagine anyone wanting to steal parts from these older robots. By current standards, they were fairly out of date and were only maintained with the bare minimum. Anyone who took any action against these robots would be witnessed as a hater of the innocent, a burnisher of the youth. There was nothing special robotics wise about these old models.

And yet, they still managed face recognition.

They still wandered in search for their intended age group.

They still lingered, almost lifelike in their interactions.

It was often said that the eyes were the window to the soul.

Their eyes always seemed dead to him...but something...eerie offered them life. Something he could not explain. Not through textbooks, anyway. To a child, this was perhaps charming, but to an adult…

The logic was incoherent.

The shuffled clicks of his heels scuffed along the floors, heading back to his office. There was no need for him to meander around these halls. This heat was going to make him hallucinate. And his imagination was going to do worse.

The night remained quiet for a few moments until the firm hum of the metal fan in the office echoed off the walls, assuring all that the night guard was back where he belonged. The frozen chick blinked, eyes clicking down the hall where he decided to detract, and finally relaxed her arms from their locked position with a static sigh. Either he hadn't glanced at her tray, or he had completely ignored it. This was for the best. It would've been a disappointing night otherwise. She remained still for a few moments more, listening for any advancing footsteps...camera gears...anything.

The air remained thick with silence.

Good.

Pivoting on her heel, Chica the Chicken waddled down the hall as easily as she could, balancing the bottles and tools loaded in her arms, hoping none of them slid off and caused a ruckus. The last thing she wanted was a cause for attention. Things at the Fazbear establishment were always best done quietly. Discretely. And with a smile. At least, for her kind, anyway.

Her gears slowed as she paused just outside the corner wing, noticing the door was open just a crack.

Perfect.

With a light spin, she brushed against the swivel, eyes clicking about as the joint and bolts of the frame creaked with a yearn for oil. Perhaps someday.

Her heavy thumps muffled against the floor, feet pressing firmly as her head rotated from side to side, the darkness of the room causing her no difficulties in her search. Boxes cluttered her path left and right, gears and forgotten tools splayed dangerously across the tiles. The air felt dank with the lack of circulation, muggy and clotting and rotting away the cardboard left scattered about in this throw away room that bore no real use.

Not to the public anyway.

A light static filled clear of the throat. Or voice box, rather.

"Surprise!"

She waited patiently, pitched against the darkness, gazing at the ripped curtains directly in front of her. There seemed to be no movement behind them, but that never deterred her. She was a patient soul and there wasn't much room to hide. Not a window to a wall, barely a path to escape. Her goal was always in this room.

Always.

Shuffling her weight from one side to the other, the bot glanced about, lowering her arms a tiny bit. Not a sound to reflect on. Strange. She glanced from side to side, taking one step further.

"Surprise!"

"What be the occasion, chickee?"

The tray rattled in her grip as she nearly dropped it, twisting on her heel to the voice behind her.

"Goodness gravy, y'startled me." the chick huffed, setting down the tray on one of the sturdier boxes, brushing off any dust from her suit and peered up at the looming creature, his golden eye lightly lit from the weak power source at his docking station, or by pure determination. She couldn't be sure. She found it rude to ask. But by logic or fight, he was still powered...still lurking these corners, after all these years.

His condition was pitiful, a shameful mess that the company would be embarrassed of if they had ever actually taken the time to observe the poor creature withering away behind the curtain. The fur clinging onto his arms was in shambles, tears and holes pocketing his core down to his very shorts, tarnished and tattered far beyond what was acceptable in character. Below that had been scraped clean over the years, both legs robotized and rusted, and his tail…

Brushing away the state of the life before her, Chica smiled gently, wings wiggling in enthusiasm, "Happy Birthday! Or...Anniversary? I s'ppose it depends on how y'wanna look at it."

A silver hook rose in the darkness, tapping just under the loosened jaw of the decrepit fourth mascot of the pizzeria in thought.

"Be it that already? Felt like 'twas the other night..."

Wings lowering, she turned back to her items, shuffling through them quietly, "Once every year, Cap'n. Like always."

The boxes scraped against the floor as he pushed them to the side, making a bit more room for his guest, as it wasn't very often when he received one. Aside from the third member of the Fazbear Band, he only met with the occasional staff member, and only when they were in a search for something other than himself. If anything, he gave them an initial fright, nearly all forgetting that he existed in his domain after all these years. It was nice to see a friendlier face in his prison cell.

"Birthday….birthday…be amazin' this place is the one t'have it, an' blast if I can remember me own. Either me memory's goin' or I'm breakin' down faster than I thought."

Shaking a can gently, the yellow bird listened close, making sure there was still some content within. She always made sure there was enough left over before coming by, but it never hurt to be extra cautious. Not that it would help right now. The stock room was currently locked for the night. She would have to make due with whatever she had now. Her eyes clicked over to the fox leaning along one of the stacks for support. The corrosion in his left knee joint made it difficult to place his entire weight on for too long. Pressing down against one of the boxes, she found it to be filled with mechanical hardware, extra parts and even replacement chair beams. Closing the flaps, she patted the flat surface and nodded toward Foxy to sit down. It would be sturdy enough to hold him.

"I'm fine, lass. Y'don't think I just sit around all day collectin' rust, do ye'?"

Her wings clutched along his right arm, guiding him to the makeshift seat, and without much retaliation, he wearily took the offer. "You're twenty nine, Foxy. That's hardly old enough to complain about age or memory loss. If you're old, what does being two years older make me?" she huffed, turning to her tools once more. She scooped up the can once more, making sure the nozzle was properly attached. A spill would be a waste of resources and rather difficult to clean from either of their suits. He couldn't afford to tarnish the tatters he had left.

"Finely aged, lass. Like a refined royal wine." he uttered softly, lightly chuckling when she waved her feathered fingers across his snout.

"Oh, hush, you. Talk like that won't get you nowhere."

Leaning his weight to the right, the bot tilted his head, knocking his hook against his thigh. The light clang echoed quietly, not enough to harbor attention. "And why would it? Look at the state I'm in. 'tis a curious miracle y'make visits when y'do. Time has weathered me somethin' terrible." He watched as she doused a generous amount of oil onto an old buffing rag saturated with previous takes of motor oil from previous cleanses. She always found that the nearly empty cans the employees would toss always had a decent amount left at the very bottom. If they were going to throw them out regardless, she found no harm in puncturing a hole and combining them in the old canister they used to use before oils were commonly sold in shops prepackaged. With every little bit she managed to muster, she would collect enough buffing oil for a full robotic cleaning session...a lifeline her friend desperately required.

"If time has done anything, it's humbled you. I remember a Foxy who wouldn't accept help from anyone, once upon a time." she noted lightly, poking the ends of her wings into plastic bags for sanitary purposes. It was harder to clean her feathers without human help, and she didn't want to mislead them into thinking she was leaking. She simply had to be very careful.

"Aye," he sighed, running his thumb along his chin, "an' look where it got me. Sealed up like a mutt in a cage with the key tossed to the winds." Grabbing the rag, Chica glanced at him softly, gently lowering herself in careful balance down to her knees, settling firmly like a nestled bird. Her packaged fingers brushed back the edge of his shorts, revealing the corroding knee joints, rust, and jagged edges. She quickly covered his left with the rag, squeezing the fluid and tilting his foot ever so slightly to build the loosening mobility. "Well, whoever heard of a sailor who wasn't hardheaded?" she chuckled tenderly, finding the oil working instantly as the rust seemed to break off and fall away, "This wasn't your fault, though. Careless human error...that's all it is. The children loved you when you were active."

A slight snort.

"Humans...remind me why I'm meant to be fond of 'em when yer the one caterin' to me needs?"

Moving over to his other knee, Chica repeated the action, glancing to the side as he twisted the other leg on his own a lot more easily than before. The long term damage was still present, but a quick fix was all she could offer. He appreciated it regardless.

"Without humans, neither of us would be here, an' more so, I wouldn't be here to cater to anyone, so let's not forget we owe 'em a small thank you of sorts. Besides, you loved 'em kids right back, an' don't you lie to me you sly fox. You loved tellin' 'em those stories, an' havin' adventures, an' hidin' secrets from Freddy."

A slight grin escaped the decrepit bot, unable to argue the point on such a sensitive subject. Too true were her words. He had adored his time in the spotlight all those years ago. Leaning back on his wrist, Foxy picked along his ear with his hook, finding a tuft of fluff, "Ah, do tell, lass. How go the men o' the band? They give ye' a solo yet?"

Her wipe paused a moment before rotating around the joint, "Oh, Foxy, not this again. I told you, I'm perfectly fine being a back up singer. It's what I was meant to do. Freddy's the real singer, after all. It's the Fazbear Band."

The bot huffed, ears lowering, "Real singer. The bear could sing a babe t'sleep, I'll give 'im that. An' Davy help us all when the rabbit feels his time has come. The lad carries a glitch in his voice box, I swear it on everythin' I have left." A tiny giggle escaped her as she reached up for the can, and he gripped it firmly from her tray, lowering it down.

"Oh, leave Bonnie alone. He don't mean no harm in it. Just havin' a 'lil fun is all. The young'uns like it when he joins in. Besides, he's the only one who has an instrument in his programmin'."

"More the reason fer 'im t'shut up." the fox muttered, rubbing under his jaw with the curve of his hook.

A gentle sigh escaped the bird, tossing the filthy rag to the side as she set the can on the ground, clutching his foot with a careful hand and maneuvering it in its rotations. Much better. She guided his leg up in a bend, wincing as the rough grind pinched the air. His hips needed greasing next. His foot rested flat against the floor, wings driving direction at all times. Reaching for the can, she lifted up a bit from her perch, checking once more that the nozzle was firmly attached, and tilted it ever so carefully onto the exposed exoskeleton between the fabrics as not to damage what was left of his shorts. With every pump of the can, she tilted his leg more and more into a gentle circle until the gears stopped fighting her.

"I can never figure why you an' Bonnie never got along. You an' Freddy never really seem to see eye to eye, but at least with him, you mind y'manners."

Eying the rag on the side, Foxy wiped his hook along it, rubbing off the building grime, "I won't disrespect a man in 'is own house, lass. Same as no sane man boards a strange ship an' claims t'be captain. We have our place. But the rabbit–"

"Bonnie." she corrected lightly, moving over to the other leg.

"Wull, he gave me a mighty fine greetin' on me first day, now didn't he? A man knows when he's not wanted, chickee. An' I was fully functional back then. I should've given him a wallop when I had the chance. Blast it, I'd take 'im on now wif two patches an' a peg!" he huffed, curling his metallic hand to join the hook, a swift swipe brushing a light breeze against her top feathers.

Pausing her task, she gave him a stern look, gripping his hand and placing it down to balance himself, "You'll do no such thing. We set good examples for children and we do not fight each other like heathens. Violence is not acceptable behavior at Freddy Fazbear's."

"It's the rabbit who threw the first punch, lass. The bugger thinks himself so big only until y'call 'im out on it. I'd love 'im t'say what he truly thinks to m'face." the fox growled, wincing when Chica rolled his leg a little firmer than she needed to, gently setting it back in place. With a soft sigh, she lifted herself back to her feet, on to his left elbow. This would prove easier. The armature was more exposed, unfortunately.

"Bonnie can be sweet once you get to know him. He's just more ol' fashioned in that way. He can be a bit...close minded to new things." she tried, tucking his arm in toward his chest, making sure the oil spread evenly.

"Twenty nine, am I? Not quite sure what yer seein', lass, but I don't exactly carry a fresh out o'the box smell. He's had more than enough time t'get over it. I'm not a perfect creature, but I was brought in with full intentions. The humans expected me, anyway."

A small smile lifted through her eyes, a bit brighter as she thought back on those earlier days.

"I remember. You were...intimidating."

The bot chuckled with a light shrug, offering his right arm, "You lot wif yer cozy, tender looks. A fox wit'out chompers is a fish wit'out gills." Her covered wings held the curve of his hook in light suggestion, but he only waved it off, "T'pick the fluff from me ears an' fur from me teeth. N'more, n'less. Y'think the humans would bring me here t'gut the lot of ye'? I was meant for the likes o' kiddies. All look an' show."

"Still sharp." she pointed out, always curious why his makers chose to fit him with such a true weapon, but all in all, Foxy's words were honest. His hook had never injured a single soul.

A single click to his neck, and he rotated that on his own.

"But not really the reason." she added, tucking the can carefully, "It was your loud mouthed ego that threw us in a tizzy."

"Was I truly the worst?" he grinned, arching a brow, but the chick tilted her head with a stern hum.

"Threatenin' t'tie Bonnie up an' leave him for scraps isn't exactly the most neighborly thing to do, an' don't think I didn't catch you givin' Freddy a sour eye when y'didn't like what he had t'say. Runnin' up an' down the halls all howdy do, an' tryin' t'scare the livin' heebie jeebie outta the night guards...swipin' Bonnie's bass and claimin' it was part of your treasure collection? I dunno about the worst, but you were quite a handful in those days."

A hearty laugh escaped the fox, waving a hand much smoother than before, "All in good fun, lass. Y'must be jealous, though. I never did pick on ye'."

"I'd take a mighty pass on that, but I always figured you at least knew your place with a lady."

Tilting his neck from left to right, he made sure the joints were loose enough for his liking.

"What fun is it t'make a lass cry? It's an uneven match, it is."

Flicking a feathered pointer at him, Chica huffed, "Y'ull got some nerve, pirate. An' t'think I spent my night tryin' t'fix you all up."

Pumping his arms and rotating his torso, Foxy smiled, finding the pressure on his joints alleviated to some point. Bless her bolts, the lass. "Aye, an' a great job ye' did, chickee. I'd never upset the jewel of the cove. Least not on purpose, if ye'll have me sayin'. Ye' were the only one who made the effort fer ol' Foxy. An' a pirate never forgets."

Her ruffled feathers smoothed a bit with her smile, rolling her eyes before lifting the can in her grip.

"What did I tell you about that kinda smooth talk, Cap'n? Won't do a thing for ya'."

Offering her a grin of silver and gold, the pirate tilted his head in a light shrug, "I'm a stubborn fool."

A quiet moment passed before she took a step forward, but his hand reached for the can before she could attempt anything further. "Er...perhaps it best if I handle the face area. I don't want t'put ye' in any high risk situation."

She clutched the can a bit longer, contemplating.

"...I just don't want you spillin' it is all...you really oughta have a second hand...I mean! Not hand, but a helpin' hand. Goodness, that sounded no better."

With a snort, Foxy swiped the tool, swirling the bit that was left in the bottom to determine how much he would need. "Lass, I'm not exactly sensitive about the hook. I was built wit' it. What good is a pirate wit'out a bit o' gruffness to 'is name? If I was intimidatin' back then, I'll take it. At least I'll have a legacy t'be remembered by. Yer Bonnie tender can oil himself when he thinks on the name Foxy the Pirate."

A sour sigh escaped her as she watched him jolt the nozzle near the edge of his mandible where the belt gears connected, and even in the dark, she could witness the horrible corrosion infiltrating the mechanics. A quick squirt filled the area generously, but so much that it leaked a bit from the sides of his teeth.

"Blast."

Shuffling through a few boxes, Chica found a roll of paper towels, tearing the plastics off and unraveling a few. She pressed the wad to his jaw, soaking what she could before it dripped onto his lap, "I told you...y'can't see what your doin', y'stubborn fox."

"Not the worst thing that's happened t'me, lass. Besides, who's honestly goin' t'care? I'm countin' me days t'the scrap heap, I am. I don't quite know why ye' bother wif all this." he noted dully, holding the batch in place before swapping out with a fresh set of towels.

Tossing the soiled napkins onto the tray, Chica held the other side of the wad where the oil slightly dripped, eyes gazing at him sternly, "Oh, you hush with that nonsense. You ain't goin' nowhere. Humans are busy folk. They just need a bit of motivation t'get a solid work order in on ya' and y'ull be good as new."

"Chica...I'm twenty nine. Y'said it yerself."

Her solid stare fell away as she patted his jaw tenderly, trying to clean away the staining on his fur.

"I haven't performed in so long...I can't even remember the lines to me own show. The kids might've loved me once, but the truth is they're grown by now. They've outgrown me...an' I'm obsolete." he admitted quietly, tossing the rest of the dirty towels to the side.

She appeared more robotic that usual as she wiped the particular area over and over, soaking more and more of the stain away as best she could, eyes never leaving the spot.

"You're right," she uttered softly, moving onto the other side where he had given up, "They are grown. One of them was here today, with his own child."

"Oh, aye?"

His voice held a twinge of curiosity for the first time that night.

"He was telling his boy about you. About the stories you told an' how you had a hook an' said 'arr' like pirates do...how your stage looked like a boat, an' the little boy wanted to see it so eagerly, the sweet thing...but his daddy knew you were off to the public, an' I swear it, Foxy, he was genuinely disappointed by it. You were his favorite, he said it there an' then. An' right after, he told his boy they were gunna win your stuffed prize at the game corner, 'cus they still offer it. Now why would they still offer that if they were gunna up an' get rid of you, you tell me? They still got you on some plates an' party favors. The young'uns just rarely question it...an' those who do, well, their parents remember. An' if they want Foxy the Pirate back one day, we gotta make sure Foxy the Pirate is still around when they do."

Rubbing his gut lightly, the fox sighed, shifting his weight.

"I'd be a sight fer sore eyes, I'll tell ye' that much. Ye' sure ye' ain't pullin' me leg wif that tale?"

"I swear on the very motor that keeps me goin'." she promised, nearly placing her dirty covered wing onto her chest before catching herself in the action. A small smile lifted on the captain, capping his hand along his knee. "Well, that be a lovely song. I told ye', a solo needs yer name on it."

Her wings lowered, collecting the can to finish off his ears, "Wasn't even close to a tune."

"Aye, but yer lyrics be gold."

She tugged his ear in a light tease, greasing the single bolt that held it in place.

"I'm perfectly happy with my place in the band. Freddy an' Bonnie welcomed me kindly, an' I appreciate the time I get with the 'lil ones."

"Fazbear and the rabbit are blind t'yer potential. Let's remember yer own words...'ol fashioned, was it?"

"Oh, as if a pirate isn't ol' fashioned."

"Me mind's as open as the skies, lass. I'd let ye' steer me ship if ye' wanted."

"I bet you would." she muttered to his gruff chuckle, tugging at his other ear, "Mind y'manners, now."

"Always, 'round the lassies."

She tilted his ear left and right, feeling the jitter come loose comfortably, "There."

"ol' Foxy's just lookin' out fer ye', chickee. Ye' ought t'get yer fair share o' stage time is all I'm sayin'. The kiddies may come fer Fazbear, but they stay fer Chica. Darlin' o'the stage. I might not be as nimble as I once was, but me hearin's as good as they come. The little lassies adore ye'. A mother bird to 'em, ye' are."

A small smile escaped her despite her stubbornness to remain neutral to the compliment. The children were her weakness...her sole reason for existing. It was in their best interests that she was always concerned for. Knowing they desired her in some form or another wasn't simply flattering. It gave her reason to keep going.

"Let's check your jaw one more time, just t'be sure." she suggested softly, but the smile the fox had wore away, weary and tired.

"It's fine, really. After the mess I made, it's more than good."

She sighed, pulling back a bit, "I won't touch. Just open and close. Please."

Making sure she was true to her word, the bot's jaw opened and shut carefully the first time, easily the second. The third clamped like a snapped rubber band. She winced when he grunted, knowing the pressure had put unnecessary strain on him, but it couldn't be helped. He was missing the proper belt to compress the gears. The first one had snapped the day he went out of order.

"There's a reason why dear ol' Bonnie ain't fond o'ye' visitin' me."

"Foxy..."

"Snap-jaw, is it?" he uttered darkly, and her eyes clouded in frustration, tugging off the soiled bags from her wings. That bunny had the loudest mouth this side of the flat lands.

"I'll tweak his whiskers straight for that one, but don't you let none o' that nonsense talk muddle your head. What happened then wasn't your fault, an' I'll stand by ya' 'till the end o' time in confidence. I was there, an' I know what happened. Rumors are just a load of..." she fumed, unable to find a proper word to describe her disgust, but wouldn't dare stoop to any vulgar terms.

"Rubbish?" the fox offered lazily, and she gave a firm nod, shaking off the mood. This wasn't what he needed. But it was often a chat between them that never grew old, even with the amount of years that had passed. It was the reason he refused leaving his own room, even after hours. The reason he punished himself so harshly.

"Bop 'im a shiner fer me, lass. I'd love t'hear that tale."

Covering all the oily items with the soiled parts of the plastics, Chica side glanced him for a moment, watching as he moved his legs a bit, tucking them in toward his chest and back. Dusting off her wings, she brushed her belly and left them hanging there. "Not that I endorse anything of the kind, but...you do know you're not bound to this room, Foxy...You're free to explore an' roam like the rest of us after hours." Her voice was timid in nature, knowing it was a hopeless effort as he leaned back and rested his foot against the top of his knee.

"I couldn't show me face in this state, lass. A man has his pride. It's downright shameful fer ye' t'see me like this, but ye' call me stubborn. A tsunami couldn't get ye' t'change yer mind once set. A solid rock, ye' are. Figure all bets are off once yer in here. I'm not about t'cower behind the curtain like some kit. I don't think I knew what shame was when I first arrived at this here place, but I sure as Davy got acquainted real quick in the recent years." he muttered, eying her curiously when she placed her wings along his muzzle, fluffing up the fur along his jaw where it had gotten matted.

"Don't be ashamed, Cap'n. It's really not that bad. It's amazin' what a little upkeep can do." she uttered softly, suddenly holding his muzzle firm, "And besides, what was that about a pirate always keepin' his word? If memory serves me, I remember those exact words comin' outta a pirate who promised t'help me bake a strawberry cheesecake–"

His ears tweaked down at the stern tone, leaning back and pulling away from her grip. His thumb guided his jaw, sighing as he glanced to the side, "Ye'll never let me live that down, will ye'?"

"It's the only order I ever missed for a birthday request, so y'darn right I'll never forget. The folks had to deliver one here from an outside source. Do y'know how humiliatin' that is? It's supposed to be our specialty to deliver anythin' on the menus we offer, an' I end up bringin' out someone else's cake. Heaven knows how that must've tasted." she huffed, wings in a near cross.

"I'd say that week was fairly traumatic fer me. A mechanic's arm broke in me mouth an' I've been shut down ever since. It left a solid mark." he muttered, finding no forgiveness in her stance.

"It's been years, Foxy...you've never tried to make it up."

It grew awkwardly quiet as she piled everything neatly on the tray, clamping the sides, and pivoting her direction. It was getting close to sunrise, anyway.

"Chickee?"

"Happy Birthday, Foxy."

"Oh, come now, lass. Y'can't leave me night on a sour note like that! What good is it t'buff me up if yer only gunna treat me like I'm rusted? Chica?"

She paused for a moment, listening as his knees lifted him best they could to a standing position.

"Lass, I–...I'm sorry. I truly am. I just...I can't." he pleaded softly, finding no comfort when she merely whispered, "Foxy always kept his word."

She waddled out, ignoring the creak of the hinge or the secrecy of her actions.

Author's Note: Working on another story while working on this, so I've been jumping back and forth between them. Do let me know what you think~